


10,000 Days

by Vesta_Nyx



Series: 10,000 Days [1]
Category: Magic: The Gathering, Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Fanfiction, Fish out of Water, Inspired by Music, Multi, Musicians, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-07 02:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20302102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesta_Nyx/pseuds/Vesta_Nyx
Summary: welcome back,i am aware that this chapter is short. this isn't by intention on my part, simply that this is how the narrative is going in my mind. there is world building i want to set, and details to make correct and at least tasteful. after all it inst easy to make a fan fiction about real people.at the moment of this posting i have been listening to the entirety of Tool's music and i must say 10,000 days is by far my favorite.in this chapter:there is a build up to the "nuns" dressed in red. as well as the description of part of the transformation done to Chris and his body. just think, how terrified would you be if your persona you've crafted fro so long, and was a metaphorical part of yourself, actually became your physical self?**side note**know that i am writing this on Microsoft word pad. this does not come with grammar check, or spell check. so if your grammatical errors, ignore them. at this point Word Doc. is not in my budget.





	1. Prolouge

something was pulling him deeper.

in a spiraling creation of light and energy. whole galaxies intertwined in the divine frequency, shoot past him at a speed greater than light. his head was splitting, his body breaking down and building back up again, one molecule at a time. from his bones to his nerves, to his muscles and his thoughts whole memories broken down and rebuilt too fast for him to catch them, too fast for his hands to hold on to them. just like that, as suddenly and as sharp as it happened, the lights dulled, the speed had slowed down until time and movement hushed into a dull glow and finally fading into a deep and cold darkness.  
he heard their voices.  
some he recalled, and others he couldn't remember but her heard them as clear as day; as if he was living in that very moment in time all over again. they were standing at the entrance tot he stage. the crowd was chanting   
"6" "6" "6" 

a pulse of their collective voices vibrating the very ground beneath them. it was a subversive feeling that never fully went away, never dulled with time. a call to mass, the ringing of the proverbial bell, always having the same profound effect as it did during those first, grueling days.  
"hey...hey Chris"  
he turned to see him, there was a tightness in his throat. a sinking feeling that was subtle until that very moment. the voices around him, his other band mates, the crowd before them, even his own voice faded into the white noise that only he could hear. all sound was gone except for the sound of his voice.  
"you ok man?"

warm brown eyes looked back at him, eyes that had a hard and tired time, but still eyes of a brother, eyes of a friend that he knew would never truly see again. his mask looked back at him an evolution of the pig mask he used to wear, with the classic Jason Vorhees elements that was uniquely his own. his tall frame enclosed in the black outfits they had worn for their album cover, and the consequential tour afterwards.  
"yeah... i'm ok."

he expected the memory to go on as it always did, with the pulse of the maggots guiding their collective energy to give the performance their all, however the latter looked at him a moment too long, for a second held more than it did before, long enough to make him feel... unsettled. something wasn't right. the light of the stage burned brighter than he last imagined it would, hotter and uncomfortable as the sun. the heat burning him, the light blinding him. the latex of his mask melted into his skin melding blending into the fabric of his genetic make up, his eyes became sunken and elongated, his nose painfully blended into the stiff plastic of the mask, plastic that was beginning to feel more and more like his own skin. the overload of sensation was too much, he collapsed writhing in pain, the other seven circling around him their masks blurred by the brightness of the light, now engulfing the fine details he thought he remembered. his voice grew silent, though he felt his mouth open, her felt his lungs burning for air, his throat strained from the effect of screaming and yelling, yet no sound came from him; no sound came from his band mates. only the light and the heat greeted him purging all that was within it from his line of sight.

at first it was a muted, soft sensation of a cool, faint scent of stagnate air. soft sound of natural quiet came to be the soundless of a domestic kind. he could hear the pages of a book turning, smell the burnt wood and wax of candles, smell the heat of a fire no too far. logic would tell him he wasn't safe. his vision was still blurry and his coordination was off. even as he tried to sit up the room around him still spun with the vigor of a nasty hangover.  
"i gotta lay off the tequila."  
he braced himself feeling the familiar sinking of a thinly cushioned bed. stuffed with something that wasn't memory foam, or the nostalgic spring of a childhood mattress. as he turned to take a better look, he stopped short as his eyes gazed at his arm covered in a creeping substance that looked strangely like ink.  
"what is this?"


	2. Far From Home

the panic had begun to set in. he never remembered his hands being this long or his arms looking so thin, his fingers so elongated and weathered. for the first time in a while he took a moment to look at his palms. they were dirty and black with the pale peach of what his skin used to be peeking from the dirt and grime. his finger tips were rough and calloused peeling from years of gripping baseball bats and various drumsticks for different types of drums and empty beer kegs. with the light of the flames flickering too a fro, he saw the shadows between the divots of his fingers dance with the background with the shadow of his nose coming into focus. immediately he rushed to take his mask off his face, his fingers fiddling with the straps and buckles. for all his searching he couldn't find the buckle to release the mask let along where the latex ended and where his skin began. even the cap he wore didn't seem to exists feeling nothing but skin-- skin that didn't feel like his own.

"where is it?"  
"where is it?!"

his fingers raced to the front of the mask, trying to find the zipper horror setting in that he couldn't find one. where the zipper once was he felt the same sensory eh would if he was touching his own lips. the skin was rough, leathery and weathered. he reached to pull from the eye slots of the mask, the same fear finding that he could not, feeling only his skin once again.

"what the fuck..."

his body moved faster than his mind rummaging around the room, knocking over tomes and papers. various cups and bowls left behind that fell upon the stone floor breaking upon impact. he was looking for a mirror or any kind of surface to look at. he wanted to see his face, he needed to see his face. something didn't feel right. in the pit of his stomach he wasn't sure if it was the stitches that were scarred into his skin or the sunken feeling under his eyes, or even how easily the air was entering and leaving his nose, with each breath he took. perhaps it was the mask upon his face, that was somehow no longer a mask or even the botched memory that played in his mind.

"Paul..."

he whispered his name, a name that had so much weight to it, it still felt heavy on the lungs to speak it. he knew in his heart that he didn't stare at him like that ever, especially during that concert, during that moment in time. he remembered he knew what Paul did before. he felt his hand on his shoulder and he saw the excitement in his eyes. the same excitement before every concert. not those soulless brown pools that stared back at him, the tired sunken eyes that peered at him either asking for help or gazing down upon him with pity. with the heavy name now in the open. he had to acknowledged it. yet with his heart set on delving into the past, his mind, and his sense picked up on something new. not new as the scents of the books or the wood or stone of the room he was in, this was new as a person. the scent was different, it wasn't earthy, didn't smell like grass or rain. there wast a floral scent or a mixture of the chemical make up of perfumes. it was subtle, a soft human like musk that neither unpleasant or overly stimulating but distinctly female. he could only see red from the corner of his eyes, further looking over his shoulder he thought his jaw would drop. two figures, both dressed in red shrouds tall and regal entered the room. their heads and faces were completely covered by the thick, crimson cloth, however he knew that they were looking at, and through him. with quiet footsteps they entered the room now in disarray, placing down the basin and the clothes they went to work cleaning the room again, without saying a word to themselves or to him.  
there wasn't a "what happened, are you ok, or even a what did you do?" thrown at him. just the silence of their diligent work and the new found tidiness from his sudden burst of panic.

"excuse me... excuse me!"

the figures stopped in unison, both lifting heir heads to look at him at the same time. this unnatural show of mirror action, was enough to send a cold chill down his spine, and paused any more words for him to speak. their skin, a cool grey of an overcast sky peeked from the folds of their shrouds looking more, and mores as extra long veils over their dresses, both of which made with a similar color and fabric. this reminded him of the images of the saints, particularly the Virgin Mary, how the fabrics seems to modestly show the feminine form underneath. with the only visible skin being that of their arms. long elegant fingers connected to soft and supple looking hands, reached for the bundles of clothes she had left on the table and walked up to him. she was almost as tall as he was the top of her head reaching only to the bottom o his chin. still not speaking, she offered him the bundle of clothes all of which seemed nothing more than a smock and long robes. As he reached for them he could see the same affliction upon his other hand. the once peach colored skin with hints of red and pin, had been replaced by hues of black and grey, with mangled finger nails that looked as if he hadn't washed them in a long, long time. they seemed thinner than when he last say them and as he took a longer look at himself he found that this was true for the rest of his body, elongated and malnourished. he knew he was just asleep the night before, safe and sound in his home. he knew what his body was but mere hours ago. yet... yet this is what was real. this is what was before him tho his mind was his own his body was something or someone else. form the fingers to his hands and feet this body moved at his command, washing his pale skin and hoping the scrub the grim from it. the waters was clod and quickly became dirty with each wring of the cloth. it didn't seem necessary to continued this farce of a bath, but seeing the dirt come off him to some degree provide enough comfort to keep going. if he had know how much of a hassle having such a long nose would be, he would've changed the mask design. if he knew how dirty the water would become he would've washed his face first. 

since it wont come off, i might as well...when did my hair get this long?

the chilled, dirty water was more than uncomfortable, the way the sunken skin pulled and push with the slight of his fingers set his skin to bristle. unnerving was too soft of a word, eldritch wouldn't even begin to describe what he was feeling.peering at strand of long black hair that was a far cry from the rich brown that was once his very own. in the back of his mind he wondered if he was on some kind of prank show, if this was all an elaborate fucked up joke. that this was some kind of high-end special fx make-up, and he was some where in Arizona with his band mates watching from a two way mirror.

Former Band-mates.

"it'll come off tomorrow."  
he looked at his reflection in the blackened water, watching as the dirty sunk to the bottom of the basin.

tomorrow...

the robes were comfortable enough, falling well beyond his feet with the hem pooling at the floor; brilliant in its red shade as it flickered in monochromatic fashion within the candle light. that remained in the aftermath of his initial break down. his arms were exposed cold from being cleaned as best as he could do on his own, now with porcelain skin that clung close to a muscle definition a kin to a man who used his arms for much of his work. without the fat to hide it, he stood somewhat admiring how defined his arms were, how strong his legs seemed to be despite being up there in age and no longer in his prime. there wasn't much time for him to discreet how appropriate his reaction should be, as he looked back towards the threshold of the room another woman in red was standing waiting for him. instead of the long flowing modesty to cloth her body, she was naked from the neck down. from the slopes of her small chest, to the sturdy shape of her hips and legs blending with the bare skin grey as asphalt, glowed with the healthy vigor of a young woman; contrasting the stark crimson that fully hid her face. there was an unearthly grace about her ass he walked silently towards him. his heart beating louder in his chest, wanting to back away from her, but finding his own body betraying him. she was closer still close enough to smell her scent close enough to see the shadow of her head peeking from the cloth. the dread lingered still growing in intensity, freezing him in place waiting for what was to come next. half expecting her to lay upon the makeshift bed behind him, and the latter to see her end his life in that instant. his new face showed no emotion except for his greenish-blue eyes starring at her shaking with the all too human fear of the unknown. there must have been reason in her mind, an understanding that he wasn't privy to, for as soon as she came face to face with him she simply stood, and extend her hand. delicately and poised, waiting for him to reach out in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back,  
i am aware that this chapter is short. this isn't by intention on my part, simply that this is how the narrative is going in my mind. there is world building i want to set, and details to make correct and at least tasteful. after all it inst easy to make a fan fiction about real people.  
at the moment of this posting i have been listening to the entirety of Tool's music and i must say 10,000 days is by far my favorite.
> 
> in this chapter:  
there is a build up to the "nuns" dressed in red. as well as the description of part of the transformation done to Chris and his body. just think, how terrified would you be if your persona you've crafted fro so long, and was a metaphorical part of yourself, actually became your physical self?
> 
> **side note**  
know that i am writing this on Microsoft word pad. this does not come with grammar check, or spell check. so if your grammatical errors, ignore them. at this point Word Doc. is not in my budget.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the carnival!
> 
> well, more like a festival of fantasy and wanderlust. I've been working on this project for a while now, trying my best to combine the best of both the musical worlds i dwell in, and the Tabletop games i indulge with. not going to lie this will be a long, and fantastical journey, but lets hope you can enjoy this story, for as long as i can tell it.
> 
> -enjoy-


End file.
